Chapter 18

It was four days since that dreadful day when Matthew was forced to accept that Rosemary and Elaine were dead. He had lost his wife and daughter. It left him feeling strange. Matthew had expected to deny the news, but he had not. He wondered alternately if he had reacted too harshly or not reacted enough, and somehow, his days had fallen into a familiar pattern.

“James Heywood?” Tabitha asked. “There are so many worthier men you could have quoted from.”

The teasing criticism drew him from his thoughts towards the young woman seated at the opposite end of the table. They were having breakfast together, as they had all the previous mornings. Despite his former insistence that they live separate lives, Tabitha had eagerly intertwined hers with his the moment he learned of Rosemary’s death. It was not unpleasant, although he sometimes felt that it ought to be.

“Name one,” he said.

“Thomas Clarkson,” she replied smugly.

He scowled. “Mr Clarkson is a man of impeccable moral character. I will grant you that, but being of a superior moral character does not make a man an effective rhetorician.”

“I disagree. It gives him a sense of ethos that I find most compelling,” she argued. “Why, I might have married him if my parents had not already arranged things with your mother.”

“I believe Mr Clarkson is already wed.”

“Details,” Tabitha replied, waving a dismissive hand.

Matthew shook his head and sipped his coffee. “That is a terrible rebuttal, and you know it. Besides, have you read his work? It is terribly average.”

Tabitha shook her head. “Impeccable,” she said. “You simply refuse to admit it because you enjoy being contrary.”

“I think you enjoy being contrary,” Matthew argued. “I would almost be willing to wager that you disagree simply because you delight in making me defend my position all the more strongly.”

“I do not! I only argue with you because you have disagreeable opinions on the quality of men’s writing. It is a most unfortunate character flaw, Matthew. I can scarcely imagine how dreadful your life must be.”

“Oh, ad hominem!”

“Spoken like a man who has no good rebuttal for my claims,” Tabitha said smugly. “Besides, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for speaking Latin. You know that most ladies are not allowed to learn that language.”

“Clearly, you have.”

“I am not most ladies!” she declared, sweeping her hand to accentuate the point.

Matthew realized her error a second before Tabitha’s hand collided with her coffee. The cup tipped over, and Tabitha exclaimed in surprise. She jolted to her feet, too late for the dark stain already spread over her pale blue gown.

“Your Grace!” The staff descended on her at once, futilely trying to remove the coffee from her skirts and the table.

Matthew stood. “Leave! I wish to speak to Her Grace in private!”

For a moment, everyone froze, but then, his staff sprang into motion. All five of them were gone instantly, making haste to the servants’ quarters or the housekeeper. He did not care to wonder about the specifics.

Tabitha cast him a puzzled look. “Why did you send them away?”

He grinned slowly. “It seems like you ought to just remove the garment. It is beyond saving.”

“Oh?”

Matthew moved towards her, and Tabitha’s lips twitched. She was trying not to smile and failing terribly. “You cannot best me in argument, so you intend to seduce me into submission?” Tabitha asked.

“It was barely an argument. You were just insulting me.”

“I am sorry you felt insulted,” she said, removing her gown with a flourish. “Does this make you feel better?”

“Almost.”

“Only almost?”

He took the laces of her stays in hand. “I would feel much better if this were gone,” he murmured, pulling the laces free and releasing her breasts. He discarded the garment with a flick of his wrist. It fell somewhere on the floor. “Much better.”

He grasped her waist and effortlessly lifted her onto the table, taking care not to place her near the spilled coffee. Tabitha parted her legs and quirked an eyebrow at him, her invitation obvious. He placed his hands on her knees and drew her in for a kiss. It was only a quick, fleeting thing, and when he pulled away, Tabitha smiled coyly at him. “I shall not be distracted,” she said.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he replied, tracing his hands over her thighs. “We have no time for arguments, anyway. You have an appointment with the modiste today, or have you forgotten?”

“Of course, I have not. I must look impeccable for your mother’s ball tomorrow.” Tabitha paused. “You will need to learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

“I make no promises,” he murmured huskily. “But I might have a better chance of success if you satisfy me now.”

“Oh, really?” Tabitha asked, laughing.

“Yes,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her shoulder and working his way to her jaw. “Otherwise, I shall surely be unable to contain myself, especially when I am sure you will be wearing the most beautiful dress I have ever seen in my life.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You have not even seen the gown yet.”

“Nevertheless, I know you shall be the most beautiful lady at the ball,” he said.

It was not even a lie. She did not look like Rosemary, who he had always thought so very beautiful, but only a blind man or one very lacking in aesthetic taste would disagree with the assertion that Tabitha was a beautiful woman. Her pale blonde hair and wide, gray eyes gave her an innocent, earnest look, and her sly smiles conjured images of mischievous elfin brides and fairy mistresses. She was a marvel, without a doubt.

He pulled up her skirts. Tabitha—for a very brief moment—held herself up by pressing her hands against the table so he could lift her gown to her chemise to her waist and then pull it over her head. She was revealed to him, naked and perfect, and he took a moment to admire her. Although he had seen her without her garments, those had been at night and in dimly lit places. Now, she was naked and in a well-lit room, and he could see everything. His eyes roamed over her full, lovely breasts and down her slender form. She was thin and soft, and seeing her was enough to make his trousers grow uncomfortably tight. When he saw her in that beautiful gown for the ball, Matthew knew his strongest desire would be to tear it from her perfect body.

He kissed her soft, coral lips, jaw, throat, and collarbone. Then, he let his attention wander lower. He grasped her breasts, kneading them in his hands and circling her pink nipples until they rose into hard peaks, like tiny rosebuds beneath his thumbs. “When you are at the ball,” he murmured in her ear, “I will be thinking of this moment. During every dance, every conversation, every whispered conversation between us. I will be thinking of stripping your gown from you and having you just like this over my mother’s dining hall table.”

She groaned. “Oh, God! Now, I shall think of nothing but you for the entire ball!”

He smiled. “I know.”

It had been years since he had spoken so crudely to a woman, but he had said such things to Rosemary often. She always responded well to him, and if the delicate blush spreading across Tabitha’s cheeks was any indication, she enjoyed them, too.

“Perhaps we should not go to the ball at all,” she groaned.

He dropped to his knees between her spread legs and trailed kisses along her thighs. Tabitha lowered herself onto her forearms and tossed her head back. Her legs trembled, and the sight of her quivering form pleased him.

He pressed a finger against her desire, and a low groan tore from her throat. Smiling to himself, Matthew made circles around her sex and then dipped a finger inside her. He felt her inner muscles press against his digit as he moved his finger in and out, loosening her to take his manhood.

She rocked against the table, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Low gasps ripped from her throat as she moved in rhythm with his thrusts. When he inserted another finger, her legs shook, and she cried out. He felt her press against him, her muscles working wildly, and a look of utter bliss crossed her face. Matthew stood and unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his member.

He pushed into her as slowly as he could manage. Matthew wanted to drive himself into her with reckless abandonment, but Tabitha was still unaccustomed to having a man inside her. His first few thrusts were careful while he gave her the time to adjust.

Then, he moved more quickly. Tabitha groaned and jolted with every movement. Dimly, he heard the creak of the wooden table beneath her, but he paid it no heed. Tabitha whined and gasped, her body pressing hard against his. Her face and chest reddened, and she screamed as she came again, her muscles seizing against his manhood.

His release swept over him like a sudden and intense wave crashing against a cliff. He panted raggedly, his palms pressed hard against the table, as he struggled to gather himself following the most powerful release he had felt in more than a decade.

“Is that sufficient?” Tabitha asked.

He suspected she was trying to sound coy, but the impact was ruined by her gasps for breath. “Yes,” he growled. “Very much so.”

He pulled himself from her and shoved his member back into his trousers. Then, Matthew grasped Tabitha’s chemise. “We should have you dressed before you leave the room. Otherwise, the staff may suspect we have done something untoward.”

She laughed. “I think everyone will know what we have done regardless.”

Tabitha was admittedly quite correct. It would be difficult to interpret her dishevelled hair and flushed face as anything else.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “we must show a small amount of decorum.”

She stood, wavering a little on her feet as Matthew helped her with her chemise. His assistance was not needed, but smoothing the garment over Tabitha’s lovely form allowed him to caress her delicate curves once more and see how her lips parted slightly at even the smallest touch.

Next, he retrieved her stays from the floor. He slowly laced them around her chest again, giving her breasts intentional and generous caresses as he did. Tabitha let out a small laugh. “You are making the situation worse rather than better,” she said. “I feel as though I am becoming flustered all over again.”

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head in mock dismay. “You must be quite careful at the ball tomorrow. I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour then.”

Her gray eyes sparkled. “I think you will because you will also be burning with need for me. You said yourself that you would be thinking of me.”

Matthew paused and looked at her—red-faced and rumpled with her crumpled chemise and hastily laced stays—and smiled. “I will,” he agreed softly. “I will think of you just like this, and it will drive me mad.”

“Then, I shall not look forward to the ball,” Tabitha said. “I shall look forward to what will happen after the ball.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

That sounded like the most splendid idea. He grasped Tabitha’s sodden gown and helped her dress again. “Perhaps the laundress can save it,” she mused.

“If not, we may have to consider another solution,” Matthew said. “Perhaps you should take all your future meals in a state of undress to spare the fabric.”

“Only if you also intend to take your meals in a similar state,” she said, grinning.

“Do not test me,” he replied.

She gave him one final smile before excusing herself to change her wardrobe. Matthew stared for a long time at the door through which she had vanished. Tabitha was not Rosemary, and he did feel a small inkling of guilt for being so affectionate with this young woman.

But at the same time, he could not deny that he was, well, almost happy. Content, certainly, with the company of this young lady. Perhaps contentment would be enough.